


I'll Fall Into Your Warmth

by Emby_M



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: Intersex, M/M, Miharu knows about Sora, Skinny Dipping, This isn't in canon timewise per se, Yoite is completely enamored, Yoite's pretty far along in his decay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emby_M/pseuds/Emby_M
Summary: "Something simple says yes. Something Beloved says yes."-Miharu and Yoite spend some time riverside. Summer is on them and Yoite is both loved and loving.





	I'll Fall Into Your Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> I got reminded how fond I am of these two. I had a dream that fit these two, so I thought I'd write it out.  
> They're both still 15, and there is some nudity, and Yoite does like Miharu in an intimate/semi-sexual way so, if you aren't crazy about that, feel free to skip this one.  
> I tried to write Yoite's intersex status like I think he'd think of it but also sensitively -- if you think there's a better way, let me know.  
> But if you do like it, please leave kudos and comments! Comments keep my busy butt writing.

Miharu touches his cold cheek, and he thinks he might fall into his friend’s warmth.

“It’s so warm out,” Miharu says, a voice like a moth’s wings in the darkness out here, “I thought you’d be warm too.”

“No,” his voice says, unbidden, mind lost in Miharu’s soft touch, now tracing up his ear. The sensation is dulled, but it’s like being touched in the ocean, electric and yet barely there.

“You can be my ice pack,” he says, laughing.

How nice. Imagining Miharu warming him, pressed together and exchanging. He would warm, Miharu would cool, and at some point they would reach equilibrium, a complete system in the two of them. Something simple says  _ yes. _ Something Beloved says  _ yes _ .

Miharu stands, his slim fingers leaving skin too soon, coaxing a dazed boy after them. 

“I want to go swim,” Miharu says, voice like he’s not sure, like he wants Yoite to say yes, like swimming was something special. And maybe here, out here on the riverbank, all grassy and wet with the city on the other side illuminating and creating this other world in the depths of the river, it is something special.

Miharu is looking at him, and that even green gaze is so much, so Yoite just nods.

Miharu laughs, looking so- unsure. But not paralysed unsure, not scared unsure. Shy unsure. 

It takes Yoite’s heart in an embrace. And Miharu says, “I want you to come with me.”

“Okay.”

Yoite didn’t say it. Not Yoite who was thrown away, not Yoite who was dead Sora. Maybe it would be a new Yoite, but no - this person who said it was the Beloved, the person who was loved. Loved despite atrocities, despite ill-temper, despite ugliness. 

He is loved by Miharu. It is tender, in him, to tell that truth. Like a bruise he keeps pushing on, something he got when he didn’t notice. 

Miharu takes off his shirt, and then smiles, a little like before, at Yoite.

Yoite is lost in the way Miharu’s already messy hair got even more mussed taking off his sweater, the soft lean paleness of his friend.

“It’s not comfortable to swim with clothes on.” Miharu says. Their gazes don’t quite meet, Miharu’s eyes grazing the ground, Yoite’s eyes stuck despondently on the gentle dents of his collarbones, that hollow below his throat.

When Yoite doesn’t say anything, Miharu hurriedly strips the rest of his clothes, prying off his shoes and shucking off his pants in one swift movement.

He feels breathless, with his friend all nude, all lean and slim but lingeringly chubby, like a teenager should be, and Miharu laughs, clapping his hands together and dashes off to the river, hurtling off the riverbank feet-first.

And the Beloved strips off his jacket and takes off his scarf and oh, the scar hurts to be out in air and when he takes off his shirt and pants he exposes what isn’t quite boy and isn’t quite girl but is  _ okay,  _ because Miharu  _ knows,  _ and even though Miharu  _ knows _ , he  _ loves _ .

And then he’s running, all white and ashen-black skin down to the river, where Miharu is just starting to resurface and wave, and then he jumps like Miharu did. Not quite right, feet slicing the water and then his feet hit the bottom and his knees buckle...

And then it’s water all the way up and it touches the not-boy-not-girl parts of him usually hidden under clothes, and it touches his scar and it touches the places where his hands are turning into ash and it cradles them all. And then he comes up again, and there’s Miharu, grinning. And the Beloved laughs for him.

They float, and Miharu pulls him out of the water too soon, but soon they’re just- naked, together. And there’s something simmering in Yoite’s stomach that isn’t lust - not the way he’s seen, not the revolting way it feels to be looked at and wanted as something not-male and not-female - but he wants to- touch Miharu, and he wants to press his skin to Miharu’s, and he wants to make Miharu feel nice. He wants to feel nice.

It’s something innocent, that urge. Maybe Miharu, more normal Miharu, would know what that is. The feeling that Miharu’s skin was precious, almost sacred, that even the littlest touch was benediction. 

The Beloved reaches out his hand to Miharu, and is so pleased when Miharu takes his hand immediately. Curled up like this on the river bank, with Miharu still damp from the water but drying in the soft summer heat on top of his clothing, he’s blooming. Like if Miharu just took him, stretched him out, looked at him like if he looked long enough, he’d remember him even after Yoite was erased, then it would be okay. There would be no shame, no worries. Just Miharu’s soft hands, tracing their sparkling paths across his bones and skin and the ridges of his face.

“You’re pink,” Miharu says.

He smiles and rests his head on his free arm, warm like the summer night. He feels pink. Pink like sunrise, pink like the color of Miharu’s lips. 

It’s all okay. Right now, he’s Beloved.


End file.
